‘Not so strange that he likes you, Harry,’ she said, nodding in the direction of the boy, who had been allowed to leave the table and was now pulling at Harry’s hand to take him into the living room and play some more with the teddy bears. ‘You and Bjørn were such good friends. That’s kindred chemistry, you know. But you need to eat more, Harry, you’re skinny as a needle.’
After a dessert of prune compote, Katrine’s mother-in-law left them to put Gert to bed.
‘That’s a fine boy you’ve produced,’ Harry said.
‘Yes,’ Katrine said, resting her chin on her hands. ‘I didn’t know you had a way with children.’
‘Me neither.’
‘Didn’t you notice it with Oleg, when he was little?’
‘He was at the computer-game stage when I came into his life. Probably didn’t mind someone coming between him and his mother.’
‘But you did become good friends.’
‘Rakel maintained it was because we hated the same bands. And both loved Tetris. On the phone you said that things were going OK. Anything new?’
‘At work?’
‘Anything at all.’
‘Well, yes and no. I’ve actually started to go out and meet people again — I suppose it’s been a while since Bjørn died.’
‘Really? Anything serious?’
‘No, I wouldn’t say that. I have been out with one guy a few times lately, and it’s nice enough, but I don’t know. You and I were both weird to start off with, and neither of us is improving with the years. What about you?’
Harry shook his head.
‘No, I see you’re still wearing your wedding ring,’ Katrine said. ‘You had met the love of your life, so to speak. It was a bit different with Bjørn and me.’
‘Maybe it was.’
‘The nicest man in the world. Too nice.’ She raised her teacup. ‘And too vulnerable to be with a bitch like me.’
‘That’s not true, Katrine.’
‘No? What do you call a woman who sleeps with one of her husband’s best friends? OK, maybe whore is more precise.’
‘It just happened, Katrine. I was drunk and you...’
‘I what? I wish I could say I was in love with you at least, Harry. And once, in the first couple of years we worked together, maybe I was. But after that? After that you were just the guy I never got. The guy that brown-eyed beauty up in Holmenkollen snatched.’
‘Mm. I don’t think Rakel viewed it as her snatching me, exactly.’
‘You certainly weren’t the one who snatched her.’
‘Why not?’
‘Harry Hole! You don’t realise a woman is interested until they spell it out. And even then you sit on that skinny arse of yours and wait.’
Harry laughed quietly. He could ask now. Now would be a good time. There was no reason to put it off. It was so obvious. The blond curls. The eyes. The mouth. Of course, she didn’t know that he had found it out one night while with Alexandra Sturdza from the Forensic Medical Institute. That Alexandra, by dint of some unfortunate wording, had indirectly let it slip that Bjørn had checked the paternity of the child and her DNA analysis had revealed that it was Harry and not he who was Gert’s father.
Harry cleared his throat. ‘I know that...’
Katrine gave him a questioning look.
‘I know that Truls Berntsen got into some trouble. Has he been suspended?’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes. He and two others are suspected of stealing from a drugs seizure at Gardermoen. You’re hardly surprised — Truls Berntsen is notoriously corrupt and has gambling debts, apparently. It was only a question of time.’
‘No, not surprised maybe. Still, I’m sorry to hear it.’
‘Thought you couldn’t stand the sight of each other.’
‘He may not be easy to like but he does have some qualities that are easy to overlook. Qualities he himself has overlooked, perhaps.’
‘If you say so. Why are you interested in him?’
Harry shrugged. ‘Bellman is still Minister of Justice, I read.’
‘God, yeah. Those power games suit him. Was always a better politician than a policeman, if you ask me. How are things with your people?’
‘Well, my sister’s still in Kristiansand, living with a guy, things are going well. Oleg is at the sheriff’s office in Lakselv. He’s living with his girlfriend. And Øystein Eikeland, if you remember him—’
‘The taxi driver?’
‘Yes, I spoke to him on the phone yesterday. He’s changed careers. Making more money, he says. And I’m paying Aune a visit tomorrow. And, yeah, that’s about it.’
‘You don’t have many people left, Harry.’
‘No.’ He was doing his best not to check the time. To see how long was left of this damn Sunday. Monday was a drinking day. Only three units, but a drinking day, and there were no rules governing when on the Monday the permitted amount could be consumed, it could take place right after midnight, all in one go. He hadn’t bought the bottle of whiskey at Gardermoen, had plumped for the teddy bear instead, but he had checked the minibar in his room, and it contained what he needed.
‘What about you?’ Harry said, lifting his coffee cup. ‘Who have you got left?’
Katrine thought about it. ‘Well. I don’t have any family left on my side, so the closest are Gert’s grandmother and grandfather. They’re incredibly helpful. Toten is two hours away, but they still come here as often as they’re able. And sometimes — when I ask — when they aren’t really able, I think. They’re so attached to the boy, he’s all they have now as well. So...’
She paused. Stared over her teacup at the wall next to Harry. He could see it, how she was readying herself to take the plunge, as it were.
‘I don’t want them to know. And I don’t want Gert to know. Understand, Harry?’
So she knew. And had realised that he knew.
He nodded. It wasn’t hard to understand why she wouldn’t want her son growing up knowing he was the product of infidelity, of his mother’s one-night stand with an alcoholic. That she didn’t want to break the hearts of two loving grandparents. Or lose the sorely needed support they could offer a single mother and her child.
‘His father’s name is Bjørn,’ Katrine whispered, shifting her gaze so her eyes fixed on Harry’s. ‘End of story.’
‘I understand,’ Harry said in a low voice, his eyes not leaving hers. ‘I think what you’re doing is right. All I ask is that you come to me if you need help. Whatever it might be. I won’t be looking for anything in return.’
He could see Katrine’s eyes were moist. ‘Thanks, Harry. That’s generous.’
‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I’m poor as a church mouse.’
She laughed, sniffled and pulled a sheet of kitchen paper from the roll on the table. ‘You’re a good man,’ she said.
The grandmother came in to say that Mummy’s presence was required as a song had been requested, and while Katrine disappeared into the child’s room, Harry told Bjørn’s mother about how Bjørn had taken charge the time he, Harry and Øystein had compiled playlists for the theme nights at the Jealousy Bar. There had been Hank Williams Thursdays, an Elvis week and — perhaps most memorably — Songs-at-least-forty-years-old-by-artists-and-bands-from-American-states-starting-with-M night. Even though the names of Bjørn’s preferred choice of bands and artists didn’t appear to ring any bells with his mother, her tear-glazed eyes expressed gratitude to Harry for recounting something, probably anything at all, about her son.
Katrine returned to the kitchen, and her mother-in-law withdrew to the living room and switched on the TV.
‘The guy you’re seeing?’ Harry said.